


Opportunities

by LukasV



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Love Bites, M/M, Masturbation in Bathroom, Mention of blood, Smut, dom!Arthur, handjob, sub!Dutch, vandermorgan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24136321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LukasV/pseuds/LukasV
Summary: After sustaining an injury from the failed trolley robbery in Saint Denis, Dutch returns with Arthur to Shady Belle. Arthur offers to help clean him up, but the allure of seeing Dutch so vulnerable Is too much.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 9
Kudos: 68





	Opportunities

**Author's Note:**

> Lukas writes a fic where Dutch is sub?? It's more likely than you think!
> 
> comments and kudos are really appreciated! A03 has been hella quiet recently~

His hands are shaking violently and he doesn’t know if its residual adrenaline or rage.

_Bronte had played him for a fool, and there was nothing Dutch hated more than having his strings pulled._

He groans as the warm water is poured down his back, followed by those rough hands he knew so well working away at his neck and shoulders.

The steam curling up around his damp hair.

Everything, even his classic gold rings, discarded in a pile on the floor.

He hadn’t _asked_ Arthur for help bathing, but the younger man had insisted and for once Dutch didn’t have the energy to argue.

Thick fingers card through his raven locks, spreading them apart and pressing down on a spot that makes Dutch wince and growl in new pain.

“It ain’t bleedin’ any more, but you sure got a nasty lump there”

The fingers drag through his scalp again, gentler this time, rubbing away the dried blood from the roots.

And as good at feels Dutch half wants to whirl around and punch him straight in the jaw.

_It wasn’t supposed to **be** like this, **they** weren't supposed to be like this._

“I _told_ you I'm _fine”_

“Ya know Dutch, It wouldn’t _kill_ ya to admit ya messed up”

_And yes, the shaking was definitely rage now._

_And oh god if he were feeling one-hundred percent he would make him regret that._

_He would lunge out of tub, grab him by the neck and take him right there for even daring to utter that._

_But he can’t. Not now. The faint ebbs of concussion still pulsing in his skull._

_And Arthur knows that._

_Knows he’s in a position to push every button and watch Dutch squirm._

_After all, he’s learnt from the best._

The blonde bends over the edge of the tub, lets his lips trail up the older mans body, pressing slow kisses to the warm skin.

Between those strong shoulder blades, up the nape of the neck and then around to the ear.

Dutch’s grip on the tub tightens, knuckles whitening.

A moan on the tip of his tongue, fighting to escape.

_But he won’t give Arthur the satisfaction. **He** **will not.**_

“ _Jesus_ … somethin’ about seeing you all meek and subdued like this really _get_ _s_ _me goin_ ’”

Teeth sink into his neck, raking over his pulse and he’s _fighting_ it now, fighting the urge to lull back and writhe, cock stirring to attention just under the waterline.

His arms are tugged back, up behind his head, both wrists anchored tightly in Arthur's grip.

The same grip that choked the life out of grown men.

Dutch’s limbs burn with exertion, knows he can’t pull out of it.

And in that moment he hated the man he had moulded Arthur into.

“When I carried ya of the city earlier… ya hardly weighed a thing, picked ya up and slung ya over my shoulder… If I didn’t know better I’d say you _enjoyed_ it”

Dutch’s lips curled into a snarl at that, Arthur’s huff of a laugh close behind him absolutely infuriating.

_Because he was right._

_He **had** liked it._

_Arthur’s strong forearm braced firmly around his rear as he hauled him up over his shoulder. The stench of sweat at the small of his back where his shirt clung tightly to the skin,_

_The way he was certain he felt his fingers dip into the crease of his ass through his clothes._

_The deafening ring of gunfire as his boy, his special boy, murdered without a second thought._

_Murdered for Him._

_The dragon had become the damsel, and Arthur his knight._

“Nothin’ to say huh?”

“Shut the _hell_ up Arthur”

hot breath on the shell of his ear, fingernails digging in to the skin and hair of Dutch’s wrists.

“Or _what_ tough guy?”

_Nothing. That’s all he can do. Or maybe it’s all he wants to do._

A calloused hand snakes down his chest, dipping below the water and the dark haired man grimaces when it finds his already-firm length, fingers curling around it.

he squeezes, relishing the way Dutch squirms against the tub, the way his lips part and those hazel eyes flit closed.

“Well what do we got here? Big bad Dutch Van Der Linde whimperin’ and squirmin’?” he adjusts his angle, fisting the sensitive head of his cock firmly, knuckles occasionally breaking the surface. “Nooo...surely not”

_That tone. Smug and dominant and antagonistic._

_Dutch recognised himself in it, but couldn’t ignore the unique twang of Arthur’s own inflection._

His grip on the tub is numbing now, fingers a painful red

Arthur’s hand, his lips, his words… I’ts maddening and he can’t fight it any more.

Each brush of his cock sending jolts of pleasure through his body.

His back arches, head rolling back into the blonde’s shoulder, wet hair sticking flat to his neck.

“Theeere ya go big man… I got ya, you jus’ lay back and look pretty”

_And finally, he relents, let’s Arthur have his way._

_And Arthur takes it._

He draws close, menacingly so and speeds up his hand, The frantic splash of now-tepid water almost enough to drown out Dutch’s cracked moans of pleasure.

_Almost._

A wicked thought crosses Arthur’s mind where he imagines wrenching his hand away and leaving right now like Dutch had done so many times to him.

But this opportunity was rare, and the allure of having Dutch lose control entirely by _his_ hand too good.

The young outlaw pauses and Dutch practically chokes out a pathetic noise in protest.

Arthur had never heard him like this, and oh it was music. A sweet forbidden tune.

“You wanna come big man?”

“Godammit Arthur… y-you Fu”

“Now now… ask _nicely”_

_And oh… now he had done it. The second this injury passed he would make his boy regret this._

_Writhing, screaming, begging regret._

“I’m waitin’ tough guy”

Every muscle in his body was taught, legs quivering, hips jolting desperately for that delicious friction, water now barely lukewarm and uncomfortable.

He eyed his possessions piled on the floor, his extravagant waistcoat, the characteristic gold jewellery, his hat.

And it was as if his pride lay there too, discarded.

His lips part, barely a whisper.

“ple-”

“What’s that? I can’t hear you”

“Please”

“please _who?”_

“Please Arthur…. PLEASE”

_And there it was, like a filthy prayer._

Arthur relents, lips and teeth latching on to the junction of Dutch’s neck and shoulder, painting the skin with purple-black.

_Maybe he could explain it away as bruises from the trolley crash? Probably not._

Dutch’s hips dance with Arthur’s palm, rocking up desperately to meet the touch.

Water cascades from the rim of the tub and with a final broken cry from Dutch, Arthur feels the familiar warmth around his hand.

An explosion of white heat under the water, the dark haired man’s back arching wildly, knees trembling and chest heaving.

And with a laugh, he’s gone.

Slinking out of the decaying room and off to his own.

And Dutch is alone again. Wrecked and flushed-red, heartbeat still pounding in his ears.


End file.
